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The armorer touched a knuckle to his brow and made a convulsive half bow. Then he scuttled sideways down the corridor to collect his tools, determined not to turn his back on his commander.
Left alone, Jack lashed out at one of his chairs, kicking it across the room. Bollwerk stuck his head in at the noise, then tried to silently withdraw, but Jack saw him. “Send for the gunner,” he ordered.
“Yes, sir,” said Bollwerk, “right away, sir.”
In the brief delay before the gunner appeared Jack tried to get a grip on himself. This was slovenly work on the part of the armorer, very dangerous. Roth might only a transport, but she might still be attacked, might still need her guns. The marine sentry announced the gunner and Jack called for him to be sent in.
Mister Veidt appeared, looking politely puzzled, then apprehensive when he saw his Lieutenant’s face. “Mister Veidt,” said Lieutenant O’Brian, “I have just been going over the small arms with the armorer, Moretti, who I believe reports to you?”
“Yes, sir,” said the gunner.
“And Moretti has just informed me that he has not reviewed our small arms in a year. A year, Mister Veidt. Have you anything to say?”
It was not a fair question, and part of Jack felt ashamed for asking it, for there was no possible reply. That part of him was not presently in control, however, and he charged forward. “I have just prohibited him from taking any leisure until the guns have all been reviewed, along with anything else he may have neglected, such as the calibration of the guns on the new shuttle. I would like to see all of his books, and all of yours, sir, as I do not understand how this, this slovenly state of affairs could have come about in the absence, in the presence of proper supervision. I have half a mind to break him and appoint someone else in his stead, but we have no one else with the necessary skills. Do you understand me, sir?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then I will go on to say that in the interest of the Roth’s safety you will join Moretti at his tasks, not taking any leisure yourself until the work is done. I will assign - what?” he called, for the sentry had knocked at the door. “Moretti, sir.”
“Send him in.”
Moretti entered, his box of tools in his hand. He avoided the lieutenant’s gaze, avoided the gunner’s gaze, walking straight to the arms locker, pulling one of the M79s out, and beginning to methodically disassemble it.
Lieutenant O’Brian turned back to the gunner. “I will assign you one of the midshipmen to assist you, or two, and you will strip down every gun to its components, clean them, check them, and lubricate them before reassembly. Have you any questions?”
“No, sir.”
“Then get to work. Bollwerk!” he called for his servant.
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